Chase Me
by felineveracity
Summary: Upon coming of age, Elsa has chosen to run- and the Alpha who claims her, will be her King. { omegaverse; dubcon. }


_**T**_raditions such as these, were best left _dead_, she thinks; and it had been her intention to rid their requirement, upon ascending to the throne. Of course, others were hard pressed to end such festivities, and thus, here she is, draped in pale gossamer.

—Preparing to _run._

_**B**_eing an Omega, it was she who was sought after, as all who presented as such; most were Betas, the common ones. Others, Alphas; dominant, often obnoxious, self-righteous, egotistical, and so on. According to scripture, it was the Alpha's _right_ to take an Omega, to pass their genes, and form an unbreakable bond.

_**W**_ere she not beginning to be overrun by hormones, she might've scoffed. Normally the line of attractive, swaggering Alphas would have made the Queen's lips curl in disgust; but, in the start of her heat, she can think of nothing but their power, their attractiveness, and how _perfect_ it's going to feel when she's—

_**E**_lsa uses a great deal of will power to stop that dangerous train of thought. She despises this, being treated as a treasure, as prey just awaiting to clutches of some predator. Most do not share her sentiments, if the roaring crowd was anything to go by, they whole-heartedly approved of what was about to happen.

_**W**_hen the horn rang, she would flee, into the mountains, and when it rang again, they would follow. Fights would inevitable break out, their dominant instincts urging them to take out the competition, by any means necessary. The one who found her, claimed her would be her mate, her King.

_**A**_nd there was _one_, she hoped above all else, did not succeed. In fact, she { perhaps a little too gleefully } hoped he was torn apart by his own brothers. Prince Hans of the Southern Isles was a suffocating man. Annoyingly Alpha, persistent, and for the last year, a personal thorn in her side. He is amongst the group of other Alphas, all of whom are notably affected by the scent she gives off.

_**I**_t is all instinctual, all a curse of biology; and there is not a day that goes by, that she wishes she was Beta. There would be no Alphas to worry of; no agonizing heats that leave her thrashing and sweating in bed, _whining_ and _groaning_ like an animal.

_**F**_ingers curling into a fist, her nails bite into her palms as the flame within her veins increase, and her breath quickens. Oh, do green eyes _notice_ that, and she has to turn away to avoid making a spectacle. A supportive hand — from her mother — is placed upon her shoulder. The message is clear.

_**S**_he knows the mountains better than many, particularly royals from _elsewhere_. It will not be easily to catch her, and if they did not know that already, soon enough, they would be wise. Among the clutter of thoughts, the horn booms, and Elsa takes off.

_**N**_ight falls quickly behind her, and soon enough she vanishes amongst the wood, unwilling to slow down for anything. Her heart rate explodes when she hears the horn again, knowing they would be after her. It doesn't take long to hear _fights_break out, a mix of swords clashing, and _howls_ cut through the air.

_**J**_olts of desire burn beneath her skin, the evidence of her unyielding need slick between pale thighs. This is not ideal, but she _cannot_ help but want it all the same; her mind is clouded, her thoughts rearranged. So much so, that she doesn't realize the aroma of an Alpha behind her, until she's clutched in strong arms in a vice-like grip.

_**A**_gainst her ear, his voice was a low growl, saturated in lust. "Glad I _caught_ you." There is only minor satisfaction gained from knowing he was at the mercy of his hormones just as much as she was; as anyone seemed to be. There was no stopping the vicious hiss in her own tones, however. "Here I had hoped you would be **dead**."

_**I**_t wasn't against the law to kill during such traditions, after all. When he chuckles, it vibrates through his body, unto hers, and she shivers; against her, the Prince is unyielding lean muscle that _cages_ her completely. Against the battle of want and desire, she falters, and submits to him.

_**T**_here is no denying the hate they harbor for one another; it's there in the way they kiss, all tongue and teeth. Neither of them are gentle, or care about giving, or receiving such treatment. His hands tear at the fabric of her dress and she pops off the buttons to his own clothing, until there is nothing.

_**N**_othing but sliding flesh and hisses, both of frustration and pleasure. His skin is burning, and she wants more and less all at the same time. While teeth are are at her neck and breasts { he intends to mark her, that bastard } his hands slide between her thighs, bringing a loud moan in response.

_**W**_hat a terrible thing it is, to be arching beneath his body, all the while knowing, in her head mind somewhere, she is _furious. _ Later, she would deal with this; at present she can only think of how practiced his fingers are, how they fill one need but inflame another, and her toes curl as they do, hitting a particularly _sensitive_ spot.

_**H**_er hands grip at his shoulders, and as she squirms, a layer of frost kisses the ground around them. Hans doesn't seem to mind, and it's likely he takes pleasure in making her lose her control, if but for a moment. She opens her mouth to curse at him, and winds up biting into his shoulder as he slides into her core suddenly.

_**A**_ll breath seems to leave her as she grips him with her muscles, euphoria fluttering along the base of her spine— she already thought that heavenly, until he moved. Nail dig into his back as furiously as he sets the pace, her legs wrapped around his narrow waist, forbidding him full departure.

_**E**_lsa's face contorts in pleasure, and her head falls back; he is on her exposed neck in a second, intensifying the already wide array of bruises and teeth impressions he's already left. No amount of powder will cover them; and all will have physical evidence of their activities. For now, she is content with this, and in fact, invites him to continue by arching her back, pushing her chest closer to his ear mouth.

_**L**_ater, however, one could not say. For even as she clings to him, crying out in ecstasy as her climax hits, cooling the flame of her heat { for the moment }, she still loathes him with every fiber of her being. No amount of sex-crazed hormones could change that. A low hum escapes in satisfaction as he swells within her, knot effectively tying them together until he is, temporarily, spent.

_**H**_er fingers are deceptively sweet, carding through his hair, mind still clouded; and when he kisses her she returns it, nearly purring. But, they both know it's the hormones talking, and when this passes, all aggression will return, tenfold.

_** P**_erhaps one day she would kill him;

if he doesn't make her fall in love with him first, that is.


End file.
